Tough Love
by KissMeDeadlyT-T
Summary: Ed decides, as he's sitting next to his vomiting and retching brother for the umpteenth time since Al got his body back, that it's about time he puts his foot down. -Family drabble, light humor, slight grossness due to vomit. Also, a first attempt at writing something that isn't primarily romance.


**KissMeDeadlyT-T: This is the first time I've written anything that isn't romance. I kinda have all these brother feels between FMA and Supernatural and my sister and I and UGH I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE A BROTHER DRABBLE OKAY.**

**I don't own FMA.**

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The sound of digested food splattering onto a porcelain toilet bowl was a decidedly horrid one, but it was one Edward had gotten used to. That didn't make it any less horrible to hear, though.

He sat on the edge of the tub, eyes averted from the mess, and tried his hardest not to breathe through his nose and smell it. He'd gotten used to the stench, too, but his gut sometimes liked to retch up its own contents whenever he smelled it, so he generally avoided it. He rubbed at his brother's frail, heaving back, doing his best to comfort Alphonse with touch, since he was sure any soothing words would go unheard at the moment. Alphonse had had his body back for a few weeks now, and though it was their lifelong dream brought to life, it had its downsides, too. The primary one being that Alphonse's digestive system _still_ wasn't used to the food that its owner stuffed down. Seriously, Ed knew that healthy appetites ran in the family, but Al was eating more than Ed did on a good day, and his body just wasn't ready for it.

Still, though, Edward couldn't really blame him— he'd gone so long without food and now that he could have it, he wanted more than he could take. Every meal generally went the same. Alphonse ate more than his weight's worth and ended up on his knees in front of the toilet, puking it all up because he couldn't handle it. Ed just wished Al would take his time to get used to eating again. After all, the food wasn't going anywhere— but Al would be if he kept that up. To the hospital, most likely.

"Damn it, Al," Ed sighed over another round of dry heaves and retching. "How long are you gonna keep this up?"

Al peeked up at him tiredly. His face was pale, but not as pale as it had been when he first came back. His cheeks still needed some filling out, his eyes were still a bit hollow, but he was alive— not doing very well right now, Ed might add, but alive nonetheless. He offered a weak grin. "I know," he husked, licking his lips, grimacing at the sour taste he found there, leaning back over the bowl again to spit. Ed made a face, smoothing honey-coloured hair over Al's head, gentle enough for it to be soothing but rough enough for Al to know that he was not amused. Al caught his breath and ground out, "I know it's stupid, but I keep thinking— maybe if I keep forcing myself, it'll get better."

"Right," Ed said drily. "How's that working out for you?"

Al shot him an ochre glare before doubling over the toilet seat again, and Ed let out a long sigh.

"You're a damn stubborn idiot, you know that, don't you?" he said half-fondly, half-warily.

Through retches and groans of misery, Al managed to grin up at him; it was a weak grin, but with that unmistakeable Alphonse mischievousness that in this situation simultaneously made Ed happy and want to tear his hair out.

"Of course," Al replied lightly—as lightly as one could while puking up their guts, anyway. "I learnt from the best, didn't I?"

Ed smacked the back of his head lightly, with half a mind to shove Al's face into his own puke for that comment. "I'm telling Winry not to cook for you anymore. From now on, you're on a strict diet, supervised by me, Hawkeye-style."

Al groaned again. "Come _on_, Ed."

"Don't give me that crap. Your body isn't gonna get used to it by forcing it. You have to take it slowly. So that's what you're gonna do."

"But _Ed_!" Al whined. "Even the apple pie?"

"Even the apple pie."

"_Broooootheeeeeeerrrrr_—!"

Ed's eyes glinted menacingly. "Don't make me make that permanent."

"But—"

"No buts, Al! If you puke your guts up every time you eat, there's obviously a problem! Does it _really_ taste that good the second time?"

Al was groaning in despair. "Fine," he droned, giving Ed big, sorrowful puppy-dog eyes that might have made Ed change his mind if not for the discriminating evidence in the toilet bowl. "I'll do your diet thing. But on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"I get at least _one_ piece of pie a day."

"Make it a week."

"_But Eeeeeeeeedd."_

"Damn it, Al, I said no buts!"

"You're heartless sometimes," Al sulked.

Ed gave a tight-lipped smile, patting Al's back with a bit more force than necessary. "Learnt it from the best, didn't I?" he said sardonically, smirk widening when Al gaped up at him in disbelief.

"You did _not_ just make a joke about my armor, Ed!"

"Oops," Ed replied, "looks like I did."

"You're a jerk!"

"Just trying to keep you alive."

"By keeping me from eating pie? That's _murder_!"

"Nah, just a healthy dose of tough love."

Al was about to argue back, but another round of heaves came over him, and the next moment he was throwing up the remainder of his dinner. Ed rubbed his back again, letting out a sigh underneath Al's wails about pie and retches and spitting.

Tough love indeed.

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Does this even have a point? Nope, of course not, I just wanted to write something with Edward and Alphonse and OH GOSH GUYS THEY'RE LIKE, THE TIGHTEST BROS, I CAN'T EVEN DEAL.**


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